Alone
by Bliss-06
Summary: It's true what they say: It's lonely at the top.


Title: Alone  
Author: trace1126  
Fandom: NCIS  
Pairing: none  
Rating: 13+  
Warnings: None  
Categories: Drama, Angst, Character Study  
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters/settings are property of their respective owners.  
Summary: It's true what they say: It's lonely at the top.  
Status: complete

--

Laughter. The sound drifts up to me, ringing loudly in my ears. A pleasant sound… usually. It blares harshly in my ears, mocking me. Here, on my perch above them, resting my hands on the railing. MTAC is in big, bold letters behind me.

I watch as they trade barbs, spurring each other on with their witty banter. Gibbs is leaning back in his chair, his feet propped up on his desk. He watches the others with a faint smile on his face, occasionally throwing in a sarcastic comment. Tony is leaning on Ziva's desk – of course– alternating between harassing her and McGee.

They all look so comfortable, so at ease. A family.

Jealousy. It smolders in my stomach, creeping through my veins and clamping down on my heart. I envy their camaraderie. Their closeness. I long to partake in their teasing; to be a part of something. Their family. Their friendship. But I know that my place is here. Above them, watching over them. It's true what they say: It's lonely at the top.

Gibbs notices me and smiles up at me. I return it, warmly. At least I have him. Our memories anyways. What we had is gone now, but I always have the memories. My smile fades and I turn, returning to my office.

I close the door behind me, and immediately go to the mini bar. I pour my favorite drink – his favorite drink – bourbon, and bring the glass and bottle with me to my desk. I kick off my shoes and sink into my chair, bringing the glass to my lips. The rich liquid assaults my taste buds; already I feel the edge begin to melt away. The alcohol warms my belly and I relax, letting my head rest against the back of the chair.

As the edge fades, however, melancholy creeps in. I fight it off; I hate to feel sad. It's weakness. I wrench open my desk drawer and rummage through it until I find what I'm looking for. The bottle of anti-depressants rattles harshly as I pour a few pills into my hand. I pop them into my mouth and down some more alcohol.

The pills need time to take affect, and I don't have time. The thoughts drift slowly out of the shadows and hang over me like a heavy fog. I am all alone. Here, in this room, the director of NCIS, alone. Alone with my authority, with my "respect", with my obsession with La Grenouille. My stomach twists at his name, and I take another swig of my bourbon.

He was the cause of all of this.

I snort in spite of myself, and shake my head. I'm giving him way more credit than he deserves. _I _am the cause of all of this. I got myself here, in this chair, in this room, in this loneliness.

I heave a heavy sigh and pour myself another glass, wondering how much harm another pill could do. I'm not sure I really care. _Oh, Jenny. Don't be so dramatic. _The voice reverberates in my head, bouncing off the walls loudly. I roll my eyes at myself. The voice is right, of course. When did I become so dramatic? I take another swig of bourbon; my eyes feel a little fuzzy as I pour myself another glass.

I never thought that I, Jenny Shepard, would feel lonely. I've always been independent. I never needed anyone before. _It's because you're old. _The voice cackles loudly and I frown at it. I will it to go away, but it lingers in the shadows. I down this glass in one swig. Things are definitely getting a little fuzzy, and I have to wrestle with the glass to keep it from moving while I try to pour. I know I should stop, I would hate to make an ass of myself getting out to my car. The voice cackles again and presents me with an image of myself tripping down the stairs in full view of my subordinates.

I only fill the glass half-way this time. I stare at it, the bottle still in my hand. I push the glass away with a clumsy hand and take a gulp from the bottle. The annoying voice in my head snickers. I glare at it, or rather, at a space of air in front of my face. "Ssshut up." I'm alarmed at my own slurring.

The voice begins whispering in my ear, and I slump back in my chair as more thoughts creep into my conscious. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to force them away, but the alcohol has compromised my will. I surrender to them. I choke on the sob that's welling in my chest. I glare at the voice again, refusing to cry. I do not cry. Jenny Shepard does not cry. _Oh yes she does! _The voice sings gleefully.

I am overwhelmed with the despair that clings to me. It closes around my neck like a vice, and I feel like I'm suffocating. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes and I swipe at them angrily. The voice howls with laughter and I succumb to it.

A sob breaks the silence in the office. A distraught, lonely sound. Heard by no one but me.

Because I'm alone.


End file.
